Harry Potter and the Death Rune working title
by Three People Trying To Write
Summary: 5th year story. Hogwarts students begin to get a mysterious illness.


Harry Potter and the Death Rune (working title)  
Chapter One: The Balloon  
  
In the rolling hills of Ireland, Fr south of Dublin, slightly south of Wicklow, there was a stretch of Muggle farmland, many acres square. The stars shone placidly on these green fields and thick forests. No Wizard had set foot there in dozens of years.until now.  
  
The shattering screams rang through the woods like a Muggle siren. A few of the dark-robed wizards dared to whisper to their neighbors, because the sound blocked out all else. Moreover, the attention of the one they feared was transfixed on the crumpled figure shaking at his feet.  
  
Each blade of the soft grass felt like a knife in Karkaroff as he twisted and writhed.. After only a few minutes he was breathless, too exhausted to cry in pain.with a flick of his wand He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cast him outside the circle to wait..  
  
Surveying those surrounding him, Voldemort paused, contemplative.  
  
"Malfoy," he summoned. "Report."  
  
"Yes, Lord," replied the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy as he stepped forward. He cleared his throat. "Seventeen Muggles are currently trapped in an underwater-exploration device-they call it a submarine. It is several thousand feet below the surface and they are running out of air. It would seem that something has gone wrong with their locator-" he smirked momentarily "-their navy can't find them."  
  
"Good," said Voldemort, which was a fair compliment coming from him. Malfoy fell back into the circle.  
  
"Macnair!" he hissed to one of the many silhouettes. "You were successful?"  
  
Now Macnair stepped out of the ranks. "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "I believe we are ready."  
  
A trace of a smile played across Voldemort's lips. "Very well. If your belief is well placed, then we may begin.that is, if our dear friend Karkaroff has returned to his senses?" he finished loudly. He waved his wand in an arc and brought the barely conscious Karkaroff to the center again with a thud. Macnair backed away nervously.  
  
"Merciful master." wheezed Karkaroff. "I did not.I would never betray you, not in my soul.."  
  
Voldemort snorted. "You think I care about your soul? Your soul is pathetic. Any shred of value it might've held was wasted the moment you surrendered to the Ministry." He brought his livid, snakelike eyes close to Karkaroff's ashen face. The weak man's very goatee was trembling, yet he dared to try and show strength by meeting those eyes. "You worked your way out of that one, I admit. But you were nearsighted. You forgot the consequences that would come with my return.. Crucio!"  
  
The screams began again. Voldemort waited with a relaxed, almost bored expression while Karkaroff squirmed beneath the Cruciatus Curse. When they ceased, he reached into his cloak.  
  
"You have been gone long, Karkaroff. Perhaps you do not remember the ways of a Death Eater?" Karkaroff struggled to turn and face his master. "Here, we repay our debts. I have a gift, a present, if you will, for you to give Harry Potter."  
  
"Two days," Harry Potter told himself, looking at the calendar on the wall. Two days and he would be fifteen. He was starting to feel properly excited about his birthdays, now that he had more than the slightest hope for celebration. His only living family, the Dursleys of number four Privet Drive (Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and gluttonous cousin Dudley) had never made a fuss about Harry's birthdays. Nor had they ever made a fuss about Harry unless he inconvenienced them which he seemed to do simply by existing.  
  
The only other day marked by his calendar was even more important than his birthday- the day he would meet the train to take him back to school. The average student enjoyed his summer holidays, but Harry wasn't an average student and he didn't attend an average school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was far beyond most people's idea of normal, especially the Dursleys. They had an ardent fear of all things unusual.  
  
It was only through strategic mentioning of his godfather-the notorious (but really innocent) murderer Sirius Black-that Harry managed to keep his relatives in check. It was thanks to Sirius that Harry could keep his school supplies, wand and incredible Firebolt racing broom (he was particularly fond of Quidditch, a wizarding sport which was played at an average height of fifty feet) in his bedroom.  
  
Harry had disobedient jet black hair that tended to stick out at odd angles. His eyes were a startling green, and he was a bit shorter and skinnier than others his age. But perhaps the most remarkable thing about his appearance was on his forehead-a thin, jagged scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning. It was a souvenir from his dark past, when Voldemort, the greatest Dark wizard the world has ever known, decided to kill the Potter family. Harry's parents had died, but for mysterious reasons when Voldemort had gone to kill baby Harry his curse had rebounded. Harry survived with only his scar and a few odd abilities You-Know-Who (most people used these words when referring to Voldemort, as his name still invoked fear, fourteen years later) had unintentionally passed on. You-Know-Who, however had been reduced to a shadow, a fragment of himself.  
  
Yet he had not died.  
  
At the end of each of Harry's years at Hogwarts, he'd confronted some form of Voldemort's evil, whether it was the Dark Lord himself, a memory, or a minion. Last year the unthinkable had happened-Voldemort had risen back to power, he and Harry had dueled, and somehow (Harry still marveled at this) Harry survived. No one lived as soon as Voldemort decided to kill them, not when he was at the height of his power and not now. That made five times Harry'd escaped. No one else had even managed once.  
  
Countless nights, he remembered, he had spent lying in bed, reliving every moment of last years' struggle. In sleep he dreamt of it-horrible nightmares in which Cedric Diggory died again and again, often times accompanied by Ron and Hermione and Cho and Sirius. In fact, sometimes he dreamt of perfectly normal things, such as going to the Gryffindor tower with Ron, when suddenly he would find himself trapped in that battle again, only now Ron was dead at his feet, or someone else he knew he cared about.  
  
The waking hours were no better. It was as though he was obsessed, even Uncle Vernon-who usually enjoyed not noticing Harry, therefore the quieter he was, the better-appeared to worry the boy was plotting something. At odd times he would barge into Harry's room under the pretense of looking for his car keys. The intrusions didn't bother Harry much, however, because he had more to worry about. His friends' letters, which were sneakily delivered either by night owl or disguised as Muggle post, reported nothing unusual. In fact, the entire wizarding world seemed to be carrying on as though nothing had happened..  
  
Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, clicked to be let out of her cage. Harry did so absentmindedly, wondering how his friends were getting on. He hadn't had any letters from them for nearly a week now. Hedwig nipped his finger and looked pointedly at her water dish, which was nearly empty.  
  
"Just don't leave any more pellets in the backyard tonight, okay?" Harry asked, as he stroked Hedwig's head and remembered Aunt Petunia's disgust at finding them in her garden. Hedwig gave a sighing hoot of compliance and swept out the window into the evening light.  
  
He carried the dish down the hall to the bathroom, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want to remind Aunt Petunia that he was upstairs and not occupied with housework. Uncle Vernon had just gotten a very large bonus from work, which he'd boasted about smugly over many a dinner table the last few weeks. They'd put the money into adding on a sunroom. A side effect was the endless cloud of dust from the construction that had the vacuum, Aunt Petunia and Harry working overtime.  
  
As if on cue, a screech of "Harry!" came up the stairs. "You still have work to do!"  
  
Harry thumped reluctantly down the steps and into the kitchen. His feet seemed to be strangely heavy and awkward lately, and he kept outgrowing his shoes.  
  
Meanwhile, his cousin Dudley kept outgrowing all his clothes as he wormed his way out of one diet after the other. Now he sat at the kitchen table playing a noisy game on his new laptop while simultaneously watching a dry- witted comedian on television. Aunt Petunia was up to her elbows in soapy water. She cast Harry a disapproving glare as he passed the hole in their hallway, tracking dust on her floor.  
  
"Get out the vacuum," she snapped. "if you're going to make a mess, you can clean it up."  
  
"It's only a bit of sawdust," Harry muttered, but didn't feel like putting up a fight. The Dursleys could be very unpleasant if you disagreed with them; he was striving for no time incarcerated in his bedroom this vacation.  
  
"Mum!" Dudley complained as he died in the game again. "Mum, I can't concentrate with all this noise!"  
  
"Mummy can't help things, Dudley dear," she said in an exasperated tone.  
  
"But I can't hear the television at all when they're sawing!" Apparently out of lives, he looked dangerously near a tantrum. Even though he was already fifteen, Harry often thought his cousin had stopped maturing at age seven.  
  
The sound of a car coming to a halt in the driveway signaled Vernon Dursley was home from another day of work for Grunnings, his drill company. Aunt Petunia began to flit about the kitchen, drying dishes and stacking them in their cupboards.  
  
"Hurry up," she ordered Harry. "I want you to finished dinner."  
  
"I'm home!" called Uncle Vernon, a quick-tempered man with no neck and a mustache resembling a fat, furry caterpillar. He burst into the kitchen, still wallowing in pride for how well his business was doing, and the fact that this had been a 'normal' summer for him so far. "How's my Dudley?" he asked jovially, looking at the computer screen. "Beaten level nine yet?"  
  
"No," said Dudley sourly. "It's too noisy and people keep vacuuming." He glared at Harry.  
  
"Ah," agreed Uncle Vernon.  
  
"Oy! Watch out there, Todd," shouted one of the construction workers loudly enough to be heard inside.  
  
"What the hell is that owl doing?" said another.  
  
Harry looked out the kitchen window and felt his heart either lurch or leap; he wasn't quite certain. A barn owl was perched on the frame of the new room. It looked at them with disdain as they narrowly avoided hitting it with a two-by-four. An owl usually meant mail from his friends or Sirius, yet if the Dursleys realized the construction men had seen something the slightest bit unusual, Harry would be punished somehow- whether it was his fault or not.  
  
Uncle Vernon's expression went from contentment to a mix of embarrassment and barely concealed rage. The construction men were still remarking about the owl. Uncle Vernon barreled past Harry (who had been thinking he would try to retrieve the owl before anyone noticed) and tripped over the power cord running to the nail gun. A few nails flew haywire and he got to his feet, redder than before.  
  
"My nephew's pet," he exclaimed in a voice that squeaked in the middle.  
  
The workers looked at him doubtfully.  
  
"He's got something, there," said one.  
  
"Must've picked it up somewhere," Uncle Vernon forced a laugh, "he went missing this morning." He made a grab for the owl, but it hooted at him resentfully and flew out of reach.  
  
Harry fished one of Hedwig's owl treats from his pocket. "Sorry," he apologized to the workers, jogging over and holding out the treat. Enticed, the owl came to a rest on his arm. "It won't happen again."  
  
"It had better not, boy," hissed Uncle Vernon. He waited until he'd dragged Harry into the living room to start yelling.  
  
"They're going to be joking about that for days!" he shouted. The owl dug its talons nervously into Harry's wrist. "Do you have any idea how this makes me look?"  
  
"Not half as funny as you did when you tripped over that cord," Harry said in an undertone.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
Harry didn't reply. Uncle Vernon but his face right in Harry's glaring. His breath smelled.  
  
"No. More. Owls," he said, beady little eyes squinting dangerously. "No. More. Bloody. Owls."  
  
"It's not like I could help it!" Harry defended. "It's not my fault my friends write-"  
  
"If there's one more-incident-you won't have the strength to write to your little friends, do you hear me?!" roared Uncle Vernon.  
  
"What, not even Sirius?"  
  
"NOT EVEN-"  
  
But he stopped, swallowed. Harry suppressed a laugh. When he tried to speak again, his words got stuck. After a few minutes of stuttering Uncle Vernon got out, "well-why don't you-get your dinner-and take it to your room to read that letter," he finished in a staccato voice.  
  
A Petunia shrieked at the owl being in her kitchen, but Harry filled his plate and was gone before she could start on him.  
  
Once in the safety of his room, he removed the letter and set the owl in Hedwig's cage to rest. She looked at him curiously as he tore open the envelope, which was addressed in his friend Ron's loopy handwriting.  
  
Hullo Harry!  
  
How are you? Muggles getting you down? Good owl, this, isn't it? Errol collapsed halfway to Hermione's a few weeks ago, so he's gone into semi- permanent retirement. Dad's finally found us a new one, secondhand from someone at the Ministry. Her name's Adonia. You should see her with Pig, he flew around her head yesterday until she started chucking her food at him. One piece knocked him dizzy for a moment, and Ginny got all worried about a concussion.  
  
When are you coming to visit? Mum says you can come any time, but I thought you could come earlier this vacation. I should warn you that things are a little crazier lately. Everyone at the Ministry with an ounce of sense is stressing about a bunch of Muggles trapped in a subdmureen. It's an underwater boat thingy, but you probably already know that. Dad's been working overtime (but they're paying him extra, so it's sort of good) and keeps trying to get one to study (you know-for work) but the Ministry won't give him one-he backed off when Mum pointed out it would take up our whole first floor. Anyway, most of us don't reckon it's the Muggle's fault they're stuck, but Cornelius Fudge is still being stupid. You-Know-Who is looking him in the face, and he's completely denying it. It's bloody frustrating, to tell the truth.  
  
Okay, I've gone on for long enough. Write back, all right? Bill'll pick you up (unless you want to stay there!) Sunday at three o' clock.  
  
See you soon--- Ron  
  
Harry thought for a moment. Today was Monday, so Wednesday as his birthday. Usually the Weasleys didn't invite him to come until a little later in the summer, but that was fine. He took a few bites of his dinner and started on a reply.  
  
Ron-  
  
Adonia almost got me in trouble. The Dursleys are adding on to their house and she landed on the unfinished part. The workers thouight it was funny, but Uncle Vernon didn't. I've haven't been locked up yet, though.  
  
I'll be ready Sunday. Warn Bill about my family though, all right? The sooner Hedwig and I get out of here, the better. I'm so cut off from the wizarding world here, You-Know-Who could have done something really drastic and I wouldn't even know.  
  
See you Wednesday,  
  
Harry  
  
Harry reread what he wrote. He was going to use "blown up Hogwarts" as an example for something really drastic, but he didn't want to alarm Ron.  
  
"Hello, Adonia," He said, crossing the room to her in the cage. "Say hi to Ron for me, would you?" He petted her head and tied the note the note to her leg.  
  
She gave a cheerful hoot, spread her feathered wings and flew into the night.  
  
Harry sat down to finish eating his dinner happily. Voldemort hadn't utterly destroyed the wizarding world, he was free to leave the bedroom as he pleased and for once it looked like he might get to celebrate his birthday with friends, instead of alone save Hedwig.  
  
When he was done, he came back downstairs to put his plate in the sink. The Dursleys were watching television in the living room while Dudley polished off what looked to be his third dessert. He stood by the couch, waiting for a commercial break.  
  
"Ruddy Labours," grumbled Uncle Vernon. The newscaster disappeared and an ad for a sitcom came on.  
  
"Excuse me," said Harry. "I'm going to be picked up by my friend's brother Sunday at three. I'll be gone the rest of the summer."  
  
Aunt Petunia looked at Uncle Vernon, as did Dudley, apparently waiting for him to tell Harry he couldn't go. Uncle Vernon seemed to be thinking, keeping his eyes locked on the television, which was showing a commercial for hair removal cream. Harry took the pause as an opportunity to prevent his uncle from losing his temper twice in one day.  
  
"I'll just go finish my letter to Sirius, then," he lied, reminding his uncle. Then he darted to his room, not hanging around to see their reactions in case Uncle Vernon got angry anyway.  
  
Several minutes passed with no thundering footsteps at his door. Harry yawned and set his glasses on his desk. He'd get up early tomorrow and do his homework, he promised himself.  
  
However, Harry didn't get much of a chance. Aunt Petunia was expecting company next week and seemed to realize she was losing her cleaning boy in a few day's time. She woke him just after dawn, armed with a list of things to do and some toast.  
  
"I need this done before you leave," she said in her unpleasantly high voice.  
  
The list wasn't short, either. Harry gardened in the morning and scrubbed in the afternoon, working from dawn till dusk Saturday and until noon on Sunday. He skipped a little on cleaning the last bathroom and hurried to clean himself up and pack. Rather than make Hedwig travel in her cage, when Harry didn't think she enjoyed at all, he tied a note ("just sending Hedwig ahead.-Harry) to her leg and let her fly herself.  
  
"Have you packed?" asked Uncle Vernon, sticking his head in the doorway.  
  
Harry looked up. "Nearly, why?"  
  
Uncle Vernon watched him add a last few books and quills, then seized one end of the trunk. "Help me put this outside," he said, motioning for Harry to do the same.  
  
"I can wait for Bill-"  
  
"He's not to come in this house."  
  
"What---why?"  
  
"Practically destroyed our living room last time, that family!"  
  
"But---" Harry wasn't sure how Bill would be picking him up, just that he was. "He might not come by Floo powder this time, besides, Mr. Weasley put it right---"  
  
"I don't care! You're waiting by the curb and that's that."  
  
Harry looked from Hedwig's cage to his trunk, which Uncle Vernon was still straining under the weight of. "Don't you think it might look funny? I mean, what would the neighbors think, seeing me sit on a trunk outside with an empty birdcage?"  
  
He'd struck a nerve. His uncle groaned and set the trunk down. "In the living room, then. This Bill isn't to stay a minute more than is necessary, understand?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
Together they heaved the trunk down the steps without slipping. Harry was starting to wonder why Bill was in England-usually he worked in Egypt as a curse breaker for Gringotts, the wizarding bank. He also wondered, with a bit of excitement, how they would be getting to Ron's house, a.k.a the Burrow. Harry'd had experience with lots of things from flying motorcycles to magic buses (and of course, his Firebolt broomstick.)  
  
Uncle Vernon waited with Harry in the living room, looking at the fireplace suspiciously. The last time the Weasleys had come to pick up Harry, before the Quidditch World Cup, they'd traveled by Floo powder from their fireplace to the Dursley's. Unfortunately, the Dursleys had boarded up their hearth, creating a nasty situation that ended in Mr. Weasley blowing out part of the wall. All had ended well, of course, but the Dursleys were exactly the sort to hold a grudge. Dudley was hiding in his room-he hadn't had any positive encounters with wizards. Aunt Petunia was scrubbing the kitchen with a vengeance. This was the kind of menial labor she would have commonly thrown on Harry.  
  
The clock on the VCR blinked 3:11.  
  
Uncle Vernon grunted unpleasantly. "Can't this lot ever be on time?" he said, crossing his arms in his chair.  
  
For a moment Harry thought he heard voices outside, but when he went to the door to look, the street was empty. No sooner had he sat down again when there came a distinct thunk from the roof. He and Uncle Vernon both looked up.  
  
"That'll be your ride, I suppose," Uncle Vernon said, as though it was an insult.  
  
Harry walked into the front yard and squinted up at the roof. Something not unlike a vast, shimmering rainbow was hovering behind number four, Privet Drive. In the bright sun he could just make out a figure with the distinctive flaming orange Weasley hair, tying a rope around the chimney.  
  
"Bill?"  
  
Bill waved from the rood. "Hi, Harry! Come around the back, would you?"  
  
Harry did, jogging down the hall and out the back door. There was a faint pop as Bill Apparated down from the rood. Uncle Vernon was already there, gaping at the sight before him.  
  
Amidst the bits of wood and half-finished sunroom was a great hot-air balloon. Crimson red, sky blue, golden yellow and jade green, it fluttered slightly in the breeze. Bill stood beside it, grinning.  
  
"Wow," said Harry.  
  
"This," said Bill, opening the gate on one side of the basket, "is one of the finest hot-air balloons of Egypt." He tapped several bags of sand with his want and Harry noticed the balloon sank a little.  
  
Uncle Vernon was sputtering. "The-how-NEIGHBORS!!!"  
  
"Oh, sorry," said Harry calmly. "Uncle Vernon, this is Bill Weasley-Ron's brother-Bill, this is my uncle, Vernon Dursley."  
  
Bill extended his hand, but Uncle Vernon looked from Bill's earring (a dangling fang) to his hair (which was long enough to be tied into a ponytail) and quaking.  
  
"Are you all right?" Bill asked.  
  
"WHERE DO YOU GET OFF LANDING A BALLOON IN MY GARDEN?" Uncle Vernon shouted.  
  
Bill looked at him like he was more than a little crazy. "Sir, I haven't done any damage-"  
  
"This is a good neighborhood!" Uncle Vernon continued. Harry saw Dudley's head appear out of a second story window, eager to watch his father yell at someone.  
  
"I didn't say it wasn't-"  
  
"In good neighborhoods, PEOPLE DON'T LAND BALLOONS IN OTHER PEOPLE'S GARDENS!!!"  
  
"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen window. "What is that thing?"  
  
"This idiot," he gestured to Bill, "drove it here!"  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed Harry.  
  
"Hold on a moment!" Bill said while Aunt Petunia eyes him with disgust. "Look, I've just come to pick up Harry. I can be gone in two minutes if we can just get his things."  
  
Uncle Vernon was fuming. Steam was almost coming out of his ears as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Harry could tell he was considering his options: get Bill out of here quickly, or shout some more but extend the amount of time the neighbors had to notice. He chose the first, but didn't seem happy about it. "Harry's trunk is in the living room."  
  
"Right," said Bill. Harry beckoned for him to follow into the cool living room. Uncle Vernon stayed outside, glaring across the hedges, as though daring the neighbors to glance over.  
  
Harry and Bill carried the trunk and Hedwig's empty cage to the basket. It had seemed to Harry that it would take up most of the space, but once inside there was plenty of room.  
  
"Magically expanded," explained Bill, tapping his nose.  
  
"Well, 'bye," said Harry to Uncle Vernon, who, looking positively volatile, nodded.  
  
They closed the basket gate and Bill undid the rope to the chimney with his wand. It fell in a neat coil on the floor. Next he tapped the sandbags- Harry felt the balloon lift a few inches-and turned the knob next to the low flame. Logic suggested the balloon didn't run on plain old gasoline, but some magical heat. Indeed, with a 'woosh' from the fire, they floated up, over Privet Drive, over the wall by Magnolia Crescent, where Harry had rested when he ran away from the Dursleys after inflating his aunt, and higher over trees and buildings until all of Surrey blended together.  
  
Harry sighed and gazed around. It was sunnier than usual, therefore hotter, but it felt wonderful to be in the sky. A steady breeze blew his hair around as he thought.  
  
"This must be what Hedwig sees every time I send her to Ron's," he commented.  
  
"Probably. Fancy something to drink?" offered Bill, pulling a bottle of cold pumpkin juice out of a backpack.  
  
"No, thanks," said Harry.  
  
"Don't mind if I have some, then," Bill said, and swallowed half the bottle in one gulp. "A few hours up here makes you pretty thirsty, and I've been flying since six this morning."  
  
"What, did you come all the way from Egypt?"  
  
He nodded. "Gringotts arranges for us to use balloons for long travels there. Muggles don't usually get so excited about them, think they're pretty and whatnot-"  
  
"Guess Uncle Vernon was a shock," Harry interrupted. "Sorry, go on."  
  
Bill laughed "Yeah well, most Muggles don't get so excited about a flying balloon as they would, say, a flying car." He winked. "They're great down there, though, bloody useful. Especially if there's a sandstorm."  
  
They passed a few minutes in quiet, then Harry asked, "how long should it take us?"  
  
"Ah..aha! There's the village, off in the distance, there.given the wind in our favor, I'd say another twenty minutes."  
  
It occurred to Harry that he should remember his manners. "Er, thanks for picking me up.and putting up with Uncle Vernon and all. Sorry he called you an idiot."  
  
"Think nothing of it," Bill laughed again. "I've been called worse. Sorry you had to spend so much time with them."  
  
With the Burrow nearly in sight, Harry decided, he didn't want to think about his Muggle family any longer. 


End file.
